A couple of weeks ago, I realized that I still had a block of emails from last year’s teachers in my Inbox. While we loved last year’s teachers, it didn’t seem entirely necessary to hold on to their reminders about 2014 field trips and fundraisers. I started by deleting those emails, and then, email sorted by sender, I began several tangential trips down memory lane. I’ve had this email for a LONG time, and while I don’t use it for every day communication as much as I did ten years ago, it’s a treasure trove of reminiscence.
In honor of “Throw Back Thursday,” I thought I would share a “day-in-the-life” email written to my mother from early 2011 (don’t worry, Mom, I’ve redacted anything incriminating). Certainly, my life 4.5 years ago resembled my life today. Two kids to get out the door on time, work, dinner… While I may have realized our lives were changing, I can’t help but notice that that routine had no soccer, dance, Girl Scouts, musical practice or homework. My children were ages 3 and 4 (during that part of the year that Eva revels in being just a year younger). Reading this now, and looking at my 7 and 9 year old, it makes my heart smile to remember when our lives were a little less structured; and my heart is full for the present, while we try a smorgasbord of the new, figuring out passions and talents and what’s worth juggling; and to look ahead to a future that likely resembles our current lives… getting out the door on time, work, dinner… but so much yet to be written. Que será, será… with a little nudge from the seeds we plant today.
And that said, #TBT, April 1, 2011:
This morning, before 5, I was vaguely aware of stirring in the girls’ room, and as the TV clicked on to Magic School Bus, I felt more than said a quick, earnest prayer that these events would not impact me for at least another hour. And sure enough, nearly an hour later, Samantha appeared at the foot of the bed, stage whispering, Mom! Mom! Some children would do this right at your ear, but in our house, there’s generally a 140 pound dog at the foot of the bed which makes for an imposing hurdle, even for a child as typically forthright and bossy as Sam.
Mom! I’m dressed, but I need a necklace! She says. I squint one eye open and note that she’s wearing the size 12/14 dress that was most recently her cousin’s, despite the fact that she is, in fact, a 4-5T. The dress is a white tank top with a black elastic waist and pink ruffled skirt. She loves it. It goes down to mid-calf. We tend to the necklace situation, and about four minutes into my shower, there’s a muffled voice at the shower door.
What?
More muffled questioning.
What?
I crack open the shower door.
Can I get Eva and I tomatoes for breakfast?
Sure, I say. And close the….. nope. She’s gone. The bathroom door swinging wide behind her. Sigh.
Twenty minutes later, I’m looking for socks for both girls in their terribly messy sock, underwear, leggings and tights drawer – someone should really organize that – as Eva is swinging one foot idly into my backside. Booty butt, booty butt, booty butt, she sings. I’m not sure whether to take offense at this or not. I’ve never really been accused of such a thing, but it’s kind of in these days, too… I also kind of wonder why my 3-year-old is singing this to me, but I feel like I don’t have the time or energy to search for those answers. As Eva moves on, she trips over a plastic egg crate of her toys, scratching the heel of her foot. TEARS!
Mommy! I see bleed!!
I investigate. It’s more superficial than originally reported. A band-aid solves it.
Samantha arrives on the scene, throws her hair and places one hand on her hip, waiting expectantly.
You look nice, Sam, I say dutifully.
She tosses her hair again. Lord save us from the precociousness of a nearly 5-year-old.
Your shoes are on the wrong feet, Sam.
She looks down, the LED lights flashing. “Oh.” She disappears.
Coffee. Thank god for coffee. Eva’s having a pop tart at the kitchen counter when Patrick announces it’s time to leave for school.
No!!! she wails. I want to take it!
The pop tart?
No!!!!
The counter?
Yes. I want it.
Eva, you can’t take the counter with you. How about taking the pop tart instead?
She seems to realize that this is going to be an easier battle to win, and the tears stop.
I gather up my lunch, my coffee, my gym bag, my purse, check for my phone…. And then set them all down again while I go in search of my jacket. Except that my foot catches on the handle of the plastic Safeway bag my lunch is in, snagging my heel which then comes straight down on a plastic cup of diced peaches which somehow turns itself into a water cannon, and amazingly sprays peaches across the room while shooting peach juices mostly straight up the leg of my jeans…
But at least it wasn’t the coffee.
THAT would have been tragic.
#
In 2015, I can’t drink coffee anymore… Sad. I’m glad 2011 me didn’t know that yet.